Yuckies
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Jenny spent almost eight years as a Marine's partner; she sometimes forgets that civilian life has its dangers, too. She remembers quickly when something goes wrong at NCIS. ACD, established.


_a/n: a little acd fic that i actually don't really like, but it wouldn't leave me alone. and actually, at first i was going to kill of Nikki Jardine, you know, to parallel the female death on the show. but this suited things better for future plot points. this loosely references 'One Shot, One Kill' from season (1?2?) of the NCIS canon._

* * *

><p><span><em>The White HouseAlexandra, Virginia_  
><span><em>September 2022<em>

* * *

><p>Jennifer Gibbs kept pushing a lock of unruly hair behind her ear as she leaned forward over her desk. In order to do so, she had her desk phone held between her ear and her shoulder; so one hand was free, as she took down notes with the other.<p>

"…yes, but that's an issue for the Republican leadership – " she paused, tucking the hair back again as she was interrupted – she usually wore her hair neatly up, but things had been hectic at home, this morning.

"It's not a legal issue, Senator, and its certainly not one for the White House counsel – no, sir, don't interrupted me again," she said curtly. She grit her teeth. "Don't think I'm not aware that your commit has been reaching out to me because I went to high school with the Congressman's son-in-law – "

She looked up as one of the interns flew into her office, a patient look on her face. Jenny held up one finger, pointing at the phone and rolling her eyes. She made a non-committal noise to the man on the end of the line.

Finally, she cut him off.

"Call the Speaker of the House, Senator, that's all I can tell you."

She abruptly said her goodbyes and hung up, straightening. She tucked hair behind her ear again, and let out a breath, catching the intern's eye. The little blonde stepped forward, holding out a file.

"The analysis came back on whether or not that diplomatic faux-pas is a Counsel issue or a personal issue, and they're referring it to the President's personal lawyer," she said, wincing.

Jenny shared a grim look with the young law student, and rolled her eyes.

"Let me guess; Tribbey wants me to tell him."

"Well, he wants you to brief Chief of Staff, and then he might tell you to tell the President."

Jenny nodded.

"He told me to tell you it's because you're diplomatic and you're a, um, oh – oops," she knocked over two photographs on Jenny's desk, and then she flushed.

Jenny looked amused.

"What did he call me?"

"A real dime piece," the intern finished finally.

Jenny laughed abruptly.

"You'd almost thing he wasn't the pride and joy of pro-bono work for women's workplace safety," she joked.

Her intern looked stricken, and Jenny laughed again, straightening her photographs.

"I'm joking, McKenzie, I interned for Tribbey when he was a district judge," she said – she knew the chief White House Counsel fairly well, and she knew the comment came from an inside joke.

Jenny took a deep breath and pushed her hair back again, licking her lips.

"You're hair looks really pretty down, Mrs. Gibbs – "

"Jenny," she muttered, glancing at McKenzie pointedly.

"Yeah – I don't think I've ever seen you – "

"It gets in the way," she muttered, and then leaned forward conversationally. "I'd completely forgotten today was Kindergarten picture day, until my daughter walked down the stairs in shorts and a t-shirt and then the morning was all to hell – I was already late," she said conversationally.

"I…didn't know you had a daughter," McKenzie said, flabbergasted.

Jenny plucked up one of the photo frames she'd knocked over, and flipped it around.

"Two," she corrected. "Five and three – Anna's the one with the sunflowers," she said, setting it back down.

"You never mention them!" McKenzie remarked.

"Well, I'm associate White House Counsel, McKenzie, my kids don't really come up as part of relevant conversation," she said quickly, taking the files McKenzie had been offering for a hot minute.

She started to look through them – if she hadn't been so late in getting Anna dressed and pretty for picture day, she might not feel like this day was two hours ahead of her. That phone call with the senator had derailed her morning schedule even more.

"McKenzie," she said dryly, without looking up, "do you think I'm justified in grabbing a cup of coffee real quick?"

"I can get it, Mrs. – Jenny."

"No," she murmured firmly, "I don't think you worked your ass of for this internship to get me coffee."

She snapped the folder shut, and slipped it into a drawer.

"You can call the Chief of Staff's office, and schedule me a meeting – " she broke off as a flushed-face peeked into her office; one of her fellow associate counsels, and he looked harassed.

"There's been another goddamn sniper attack on a recruitment center," he nearly shouted, out of breath.

Jenny sighed heavily, putting a hand on her hip. It was the third one in the past month – some wannabe sharpshooter was on the loose in the tri-state area, targeting military recruitment centers, leaving white feathers behind –

"Are we locking down?" Jenny asked – if it were in the city, the White House would lock down until –

"No," the associate shook his head furiously. "No, they – we got the guy, he's dead on some rooftop, someone got 'im in the head, but an agent's down – "

Jenny turned pale suddenly, and she put her hands forward on her desk.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"The guy sitting at the recruitment desk wasn't Navy, or somethin', it was an undercover agent – "

"Is he – dead? What agent?" Jenny asked.

"Some FBI guy – "

"No, NCIS has that case, it's not the Hoover boys," she interrupted loudly.

The guy looked at Jenny with wide-eyes, startled. He hadn't been keeping up, he'd figured that the FBI would obviously take a city sniper case.

The redhead kicked her chair back and left the room, her cell phone suddenly in her hand and to her ear. The intern turned around, looking startled and worried, and she looked to the associate for help.

He grit his teeth, and swore.

"Her husband is NCIS," he told the intern.

McKenzie gasped.

* * *

><p>Jenny made her way to the her boss' office quickly, pushing through the throng of people flooding the hallways to find a television and follow the news – one glimpse of a flat screen showed a chaos of law enforcement in the middle of some part of the city, and flashing emergency lights.<p>

Her cell phone rang endlessly in her ear, but her husband didn't pick up – _not that that means much_, she tried to soothe herself. If he was busy, he was busy, and he hadn't mentioned doing anything as risky as dressing up and baiting a madman.

"Tribbey," she barked, pushing open his office door and barging in.

He was sitting in his chair, watching the news, and he turned to look at her.

"Lionel," she said.

"Goddamnit, who told you?" he swore. "They haven't released any names yet, Jenny," he groused. He gestured. "They've got the damn body covered. No on knows who's dead."

"_Someone_ knows," she said aggressively.

"You used to work at NCIS; _you_ call their Director," he suggested callously.

She looked down at her phone, and then narrowed her eyes, watching the television. She heard nothing the reporter said, she only saw her lips moving, but she could see one female agent, crouching beside a black-covered body, her dark hair bent away from the camera.

"Nikki," she muttered to herself.

Tribbey looked at her, eyes narrow and sharp.

"You know that one?"

Jenny pressed her lips together hard. She'd had Nikki Jardine over for dinner – seeing the girl alive and well, even on a shaky television feed, was a relief, but it wasn't the relief she wanted.

Tribbey turned up the volume, and Jenny jumped, forced to listen.

"…_press have been barred from the scene on the roof where the sniper was gunned down – the man, whose name has not been released, was shot mere seconds after a bullet shattered the glass at this recruitment center, no word on what went wrong, but it seems the sniper was, in fact, supposed to be dead before he could take another veteran with him – "_

"This one's got some common sense," snapped Tribbey sarcastically, turning in his chair.

He reached for his phone, and picked it up, while he watched Jenny stare at the news, eyes glued to the screen. A D.C. metro cop was pushing people away from the body, and she watched as Nikki Jardine stood up, glanced towards the media, then seemed to rapidly turn away, as if realizing she could be seen.

Jenny chewed on her lip, silently willing Nikki to turn around, to lock eyes with her through the electronics, as if somehow that would tell her if Jethro was okay – she hadn't seen him through the Marines for him to be shot on the streets of D.C. –

"Jenny," Tribbey said, slamming the phone down loudly. "I'm not the first guy who's gonna get details, but they're sayin' the dead agent – "

She wasn't sure what Tribbey said, because the news drowned him out at that point –

"…_federal agents at an undisclosed position retaliated against the White Feather Sniper, as he's been called, using his own game; a sniper shot was fired from somewhere near the recruitment center…"_

"Jethro was a sniper, wasn't he?" grunted Tribbey. He snorted. "That's probably him, then, that made the shot – not dead."

Jenny looked down at her phone, and back at the television – she saw some movement next to Jardine, and another agent crouched down beside the body, his hand resting where the head lay. Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she looked down – she was so relieved when she saw the message, that she sat down heavily in a chair near Tribbey's desk, using all her strength not to burst into stressed, emotional tears – it said –

_Not me. McAlister's dead._

* * *

><p>The only contact he made with her after that, for the rest of the day, was a text message that simply said he'd be home late. She did try to call him – she wasn't surprised that she got no answer – and the fervor of a shooting in the middle of D.C. didn't die down for the rest of the day, not with a most-wanted dead and a federal agent gone with him.<p>

In the chaos, Jenny's office was in limbo; the legal counsel of the White House had nothing to do with any of what had happened, but they couldn't get anything done with everyone else focused on the tragedy.

She ended up leaving early, and picking up Anna from school herself. She hadn't known what to say – the kids were much too little to have seen anything on the news or heard anything at school – so she had acted as if everything was normal, and it had worked well.

"Where's Daddy?" Anna piped up at dinner, looking expectantly at the door.

"Daddy," Katharyn repeated pleasantly, surreptitiously attempting to sneak some of her grilled chicken to one of the dogs.

Jenny deftly grabbed Katharyn's hand and firmly placed it over the table, giving the dogs a sharp whistle that ordered them out of the kitchen. They slowly crept out, moping, and Katharyn giggled.

"He's going to be late," Jenny said gently.

"Sleepy late?" Anna asked.

"Daddy read books?" Katharyn added.

"Hmm," Jenny murmured. "I think he might be sleepy late, ladies," she told them honestly. "He had a very bad day at work."

Jenny shifted forward in her seat – she was picking at her food, as she usually did – making sure the girls ate healthily and well was sometimes distracting, so she usually heated up her plate later and finished.

Anna puckered her lips.

"Oh no," she sighed sympathetically. "Did you have a good day?" she trilled at her mother.

Jenny nodded a little vaguely.

"Katharyn, eat that squash."

"No thank you, Mommy," Katharyn said breezily.

"Katharyn," Jenny said, snapping at the squash. "Now."

The little blonde shrank down a little, staring at Jenny beadily, and then sullenly poked at her vegetables with her child-sized Disney-themed fork.

"Katty," Anna said loudly, "if you eat them _hot_, they won't get _cold_ and _icky_!"

Despite how heavy she felt, knowing someone she knew and respected was dead, Jenny smiled warmly; she had always said that to Anna to coax her to eat her vegetables without a fuss.

"Anna is right," she said, reaching out and stroking Katharyn's hair back lightly. "If you get them out of the way, you can worry about the food you like better."

She was trying to train Katharyn to eat her vegetables first like she had Anna; there was less tantrum throwing then, since Jenny didn't let them leave the table without eating the vegetables unless it was a green that they genuinely didn't like, and weren't just fighting because kids seemed to naturally resist vegetables.

"How did your picture day go, Anna?" Jenny asked, looking over at the five-year-old.

Anna had begun kindergarten a couple of weeks ago, and sometimes Jenny still felt a small ache somewhere in her chest when she acknowledged that her oldest was in school. She at least had the comfort of knowing Anna was one of the oldest in her class; she'd turn six in two weeks.

"Maybe I looked nice," Anna said brightly. She puckered her face up. "Mister Picture Man made me put my chin up like this," she tilted it up primly, and then struck a pose with her hands, her utensils clattering to her plate. "He touched my ribbon, but I put it back crooked," Anna added smugly.

Jenny wrinkled her nose and nodded.

"He shouldn't have touched your ribbon," she commiserated solemnly. "You can wear your ribbon how you like."

Anna beamed.

"I wanna picture," Katharyn piped up earnestly, looking between them.

"I'll take a picture of you," Jenny promised, reaching out to tickle her lightly.

Katharyn giggled, and munched on her food, glad to have as much attention as her sister. Anna sat up a little straighter.

"I wrote my middle name today," she announced proudly. "All the letters. "A-b-i-g-a-y-l-e," she recited, waiting for approval.

"You learned the whole name?" Jenny asked, eyes wide in admiration.

Anna nodded smugly.

"Spelling and writing," she said.

"Wha's _my _middy name?" Katharyn asked.

"Mid-dle," Jenny pronounced clearly. "Your middle name is Kelly," she told her.

"Kelly's a kind of greeeeeen," Anna sang to her. She laughed. "Green like a frog! Katty is a frog!" she teased.

"Anna," Jenny chided mildly.

"Mommy! I not a frog!"

"Katty is a fr-o-oog! Katty is a frrrrrrog!" Anna said louder.

"Hey! Nannie! _No_! Am not!" squealed Katharyn, turning read.

"_Ribbet_, _ribbet_, _ribbet_ – "

"Anna, that's enough," Jenny said sharply. She gave her a look. "Stop teasing your sister."

Anna looked sober and slunk down in her chair, poking at her mashed potatoes. She looked like she might stick her tongue out at Jenny or Katharyn one, and then shrugged to herself.

"But I _like_ frogs, Mommy," she sulked under her breath.

Jenny rolled her eyes a little, and then turned and shot a knowing glare over her shoulder.

"Max, Pascal; out of the kitchen!" she barked at the dogs – and both of them promptly abandoned their stealthy creep back to the table and scurried into the living room.

"I want to write my middle name for Daddy," Anna said, looking up at Jenny seriously. "He will like it."

"You may have to wait until tomorrow, honey," Jenny said. "But I would love to see it, if you can show me after baths."

Anna nodded, looking a little disappointed.

"Or," Jenny suggested, "we can do it before baths, and I can get out your markers and you can draw it bright and colourful for me."

Anna's eyes lit up.

"Please!" she said. "Please – I wanna use the sparkly purple marker, like my dress!" she said.

Jenny nodded – it would be a nice, calm after-dinner activity. She really didn't think Gibbs was going to be home at a decent hour tonight; both of the girls went to bed no later than eight o'clock, and that was pushing it, in Jenny's opinion.

Jenny took a deep breath, and leaned forward.

"Girls," she said quietly, giving them a calm look. "I told you Daddy had a bad day at work," she repeated. She paused a moment. "He lost a good friend, and he might be sad," she warned. "If he's not home before night-night, I think you should each give him an extra-tight hug tomorrow morning, okay?"

They both nodded vigorously, and Anna put her hand on her head dramatically.

"Can I help find his friend?" she asked kindly.

Jenny shook her head.

"His friend is gone the same way," she thought for a brief second, "the same way Mufasa was gone in _The Lion King_."

Anna frowned.

"Uh-oh," she said.

She dind't say much more, and she seemed to brush it off, and Jenny smiled sadly, grateful for – and almost fascinated by – the prevailing innocence of the little girl's age.

Jenny leaned back, her shoulders falling heavily. She was worried about Gibbs; she expected that NCIS was a nightmare right now – with the media, and the death of a senior agent, but not hearing a word from him made her nervous; McAlister had been a damn good boss, and Gibbs had liked him a lot.

"Mommy," Katharyn spoke up, poking Jenny in the arm with her blunt fork. She gestured to her plate. "I eated the yuckies," she announced smugly.

Jenny looked down at the three-year-old's plate to find Katharyn had simply pushed all of her squash under a buttered crescent roll.

She frowned, gave Katharyn a look, and busied her mind with motherhood for the time being – there was nothing she could do for her husband until he got home.

* * *

><p>She had expected him late, and late he was. It took him longer than she thought to come home, but she didn't question it. She assumed losing a fellow agent was no easier than losing a fellow soldier, and she knew he'd been through the latter countless times before.<p>

She was in the kitchen clad in a short, long-sleeved cotton robe when he came in. She looked up, pausing with a tilted bottle of wine in her hand, and then set it down, fetching a second glass for him as he kicked off his shoes.

She extended the glass to him as he came over, but he shook his head and held his hand up, pushing it away without touching it. She set it aside, and stepped forward to hug him.

His hand pressed warmly into her lower back, and he buried his head in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her throat, then leaned back and ran his hand through her hair, meeting her eyes. She squeezed his sides, running her hands over his ribs and then up behind his shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Jethro," she murmured.

He grit his teeth, nodded curtly, and then released her. He turned toward the counter, and reached for the glass of wine, looking down into it.

"I got promoted," he said dryly, his voice bitter. "Supervisory Special Agent, in charge," he recited sourly.

She rested a hand on his lower back, moving closer to him. He leaned on the counter, staring down at the wine; he still didn't touch it. She knew that had been McAlister's position; she hadn't known Gibbs was considered senior enough to take it over – then again, he had been at NCIS for about five years now, and he was good.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Jenny asked softly.

He shook his head, shrugged. He didn't answer for a moment.

"Jardine's pretty shaken up," he grunted in a hollow voice. He squinted, turning the wine glass around slowly by the stem. "I sent 'er home," he said dully. "She kept cryin', kept findin' blood on her."

Jenny nodded. She felt a sharp pang of sympathy for the other agent; Nikki was a good three or so years younger than herself, and she had come to NCIS straight out of college, with no street or military experience. Gibbs at least – had seen this sort of thing before.

"What happened, Jethro?" she ventured gently. "You – I heard you were stationed with a SWAT team," she murmured.

He look at her sharply, then furrowed his brow as if he was surprised she knew that. He shook his head thought.

"Bullshit," he muttered. "Rumors."

He looked angry, and then he straightened up.

"Girls asleep?" he asked.

She pursed her lips.

"It's midnight."

He nodded curtly, and then gestured at the stairs. He went up them slowly, and she looked at the wine glasses, frowning. Then, she took two smaller glasses from the cabinet and held them delicately in one hand, following him up the stairs; there was a bottle of bourbon under the bedside table in the master bedroom.

She stood outside their room and watched as he crept soundlessly into both Anna and Katharyn's rooms and checked on them, spending a solitary moment to watch them sleep and kiss them on the forehead. He left each of their doors open just a little, so the hall light would give them a natural nightlight, and then followed her into their room.

"You want to run a bath?" she asked, as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and shoved his hands into his eyes, rubbing hard.

He grunted and shook his head.

"C'mon, Jethro," she coaxed, fixing him a small measure of whiskey. "I'll massage your shoulders."

"'M tired, Jen, I want to go to bed," he retorted edgily.

She closed her mouth tightly, and gave him the glass. She went to the bedside table, opened a drawer, and smiled, handing him a coloured sheet of paper. He took it hesitantly.

"Anna wrote it," she said softly. "She learned to write her middle name - she wants to show you, so act surprised tomorrow but," she paused, and then didn't finish. She knew it would soothe him, seeing something so pretty and innocent; Gibbs was one of those fathers who was unabashedly proud of any piece of art his daughters produced. He stared down at the wobbly-neat, brightly decorated 'Anna Abigayle' and he felt an ache in his chest, a relief; he was glad he was home.

It could have been him, shot in the head today.

Jenny went around to her side of the bed, and stretched out on it, curling her legs in a little and watching the hunch of his back as he cradled his drink, staring at his the drawing on his knees. He cleared his throat thickly, shaking his head.

"We had 'im, Jen," he muttered. "We had his method, we knew his next target, we knew how long he staked out his target – once we figured out which office it was, we had a good guess on when he'd make his next shot," Gibbs broke off.

He took a quiet drink of the bourbon.

"McAlister just put on the uniform as a precaution," he said dully. "SWAT was gonna go in and grab 'im, we had teams in all the prime areas for a sniper's nest."

Jenny listened; Gibbs shrugged.

"Dunno what happened," he said roughly. "It's like the guy sensed my scope on 'im. He didn't case the office first; didn't leave the feather. He just fired."

She rested her head on her arm, staring at him. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes a little – she didn't want to think about it, to imagine McAlister's death; the covered body on the news had been enough. She had liked him, when she worked at NCIS; he'd been an insufferable, cranky malcontent but he'd been a good leader and a loyal man.

She knew Gibbs had respected and admired him.

"You killed the sniper, Jethro?" she asked.

He nodded.

"First confirmed kill as a civilian," he muttered sardonically, and performed an odd sort of toast to himself with the whiskey.

She swallowed hard again.

"He wasn't the first – "

"As a sniper, Jen," Gibbs grunted. "The first time I've been behind the Kate, since I left the Marines."

"Don't call it that."

"Old habit – " he started.

"Don't call it a Kate, Jethro, you call our daughter _Kate_," she insisted, distressed.

He turned around and looked at her then.

"I call Katharyn 'Sniper' sometimes, Jen," he pointed out quietly.

"Well," she said dryly, "you know I don't like that, either."

He smiled at her a little, and didn't turn back around. He sighed heavily, and looked down at their comforter.

"I had to call McAlister's niece," he said.

"I didn't know he had family," Jenny remarked.

"A half-brother, and the niece," Gibbs grunted. "He was her godfather. He was takin' her to Disney World, for Christmas."

Jenny closed her eyes.

"Didn't have to make the calls in the Marines," Gibbs pointed out grudgingly.

That had been the chaplains' job, then. Now it was his – even more so, as new team leader. He rubbed his forehead, finished his whiskey, and got up. He laid Anna's drawing gingerly on the dresser. She watched him start to strip off his wrinkled, dusty work clothes and pull on boxers, disappearing to brush his teeth.

She rolled onto her back and rubbed her face hard. She felt sorrow for McAlister, for his little niece, and she felt a twinge of fear; she remembered how hard it had been for Gibbs to lose fellow Marines.

He came out of the bathroom, turned off the lights.

"When's the funeral?" Jenny asked, facing him as he pulled back his covers and laid down – then she followed suit, shifting from her place atop them to beneath them.

"Sunday morning," he grunted. He paused significantly. "Director asked me to do the eulogy," he said distastefully.

"Are you –"

"'M not goin', Jen," he interrupted flatly.

"Jethro – "

"No," he said. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and shook his head. "'M not gonna go to another damn funeral and stare down at another good man who shouldn't be dead."

She swallowed her protests. He might feel differently tomorrow; she might try to broach the subject again. She would go to the funeral alone if he really couldn't stand the idea, and she'd represent him – but she hoped he would change his mind.

She would understand if he wouldn't; he'd heard too many twenty-one-gun salutes to want to suffer through another one, and since McAlister was a veteran, that's what this would be.

She moved towards him, curling up close to him, resting her head on his chest. He slid his arm around her, pulled her close, his fingers running over her stomach lightly.

"He was retirin'," Gibbs said, after a long moment of just touching her, holding her there. "He was on the way out, Jen," he said hoarsely. "That's why he was in that damn uniform, undercover – I was gonna do it," he told her. "He said he had a bad feelin' about the case," he went on painfully. "He said I had too many people to go home to, for me to be the bait."

She placed her hand on his chest and pressed her nose against his shoulder, taking a deep breath; she felt an aggressive, fierce rush of appreciation for McAlister, for his gut feeling; for his selflessness. She thought of how she'd felt when she thought, even for a few agonizing moments that it had been Gibbs' body covered in black on the news, and she opened her eyes and lifted them in a silent prayer of thanks.

"He's right, Jethro," she said hoarsely. Her lips shook as she pressed them in a kiss to his bare arm. "I – know the risks you take, I agreed to them," she murmured, and shook her head. "Anna and Katharyn, they don't; they didn't."

"I'm a federal agent, Jen, there's certain risks – "

"I know, I know, I know," she placated rapidly, "I understand; I know you aren't reckless," she whispered tiredly.

She pushed her fingertips against his heart.

"He was right, Jethro," she said huskily. "You had more to lose than him."

"I know," Gibbs said in a raw voice; he sounded hollow, and guilty.

Jenny swallowed, still a little spooked by how close she might have come to losing him today – closer than she had in years, since he was a Marine – since his deployments.

"You can honor his sacrifice," she murmured shakily. "You – you're a good agent, Jethro. You – keep doing your job," she took a deep breath, "but do it smart. You're not a human shield."

He turned onto his side and slipped his other arm around her, burying his nose in her hair. He mumbled something unintelligible, his words gravelly and strained, and his muscles felt tense under her palms.

"What?" she asked softly, moving her head a little.

He tangled his hand in her hair.

"I said," he repeated gruffly, seeking comfort in her touch, "you're never getting rid of me, Jen," he growled sharply in her ear.

Her lips turned up a little, and she rested her forehead against his chest; she knew he couldn't promise her that, but she also knew he'd always calculate his decisions the best way possible to make sure he was home to see his daughters grow up – and right now, she owed gratitude to the mentor who had taken Gibbs from the Marines to NCIS, and made sure a sniper hadn't taken him away tonight.

* * *

><p><span><em>September 2022<em>

* * *

><p><em>this isn't beta'd at all; vague apologies for that. The White House Counsel referenced is Lionel Tribbey, a West Wing character. I think I might use some of them for Jenny's White House colleagues. <em>

_-alexandra  
>story #147<em>


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